African Literature

I like reading people’s stories, maybe hearing people talk about their issues, so literature has been a part of me for a while now and especially after I finished my O-levels, form four if you will. I realised that there was more to reading than to just pass exams. I remember re-reading the River and the Source and wondering if I am the one who did my literature paper and passed. I was amazed that I could not remember some of the names of main characters in the book; however, the second reading was voluntary and more fun. I was amazed at the flow of the book and having been used to reading western book, I was intrigued by this African woman.

My experience with western books is rather interesting, I started reading when I was younger, at maybe class five, I loved stories and so anything that caught my attention was welcome, I read as many Famous Five as I could. My brother was an addict so I had a book to borrow all the time. Then he moved up to Nancy Drew and since he was my source I had to move up as well, Hardy Boys came in and still following on my brothers footsteps, he marked the end of primary education. That meant I was all alone and had to depend on me to get a book to read.

When I joined O-levels, I had extra coins to spare after shopping and so my book spree begun, Sweet Valleys checked in and I spread a Sweet Valley euphoria in school. I once had an argument with a friend because she jumped the book queue of Sweet Valley University: the boyfriend war. I went and bought my own copy of that. Then our literature teacher said that we should read Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe, one of the leading writers in Nigeria. In my childhood years, Things Fall Apart was one of the most boring programmes on TV, now reading it was a death penalty to me. Long story short I never read it.

Got to form three and the subject literature was introduced, not just in English but also in Swahili, the book Merchants of Venice is boring generally, now imagine reading it in Swahili, goodness gracious! Shamba la Wanyama & Siku Njema were interesting maybe because of the class effort to read it together and help the slow one like me. Looking for a Rain God and other stories was neither my cup of coffee, I would never bet to remember anything there. Then there was the River and the Source, I read it because it was going to be compulsory in the exam. Now all of those books and two more not forgetting poetry and wonder how I managed a grade good enough for campus. I think I am very good at cramming, no wonder I failed in maths, could not crap.

First semester into campus and I had to read Peace Child, I loved it so much and could not understand how, so many of my classmates never read it at all, maybe because it was not African, but it was of a native tribe more native than Africans maybe. My second semester and Bruchko is the book to read, easy pizzy for me. Now the third semester was almost like a nightmare for me as I remembered my first year in O-levels, Things Fall Apart. I amazed myself by reading the book in less than a week and remembered everything that needed remembering. Then I realised African writers are actually interesting. I looked for A Man of the People; another book by Chinua Achebe read it with ease. Then I remembered the River and the Source.

One of the most beautiful things about this book is that it is fictional with true facts. I could almost be there with the writer when she talked about Kisumu and the other places I had visited. She describes everything so well you almost have an entire map in your head. My bother made my day when he brought me the sequel to that, I swear by Apollo. Wow! Amazing stuff, the information she gives is not only interesting but also educative. She brings out awesome quotes. It is no wonder her book (The River and the Source) won both the Jomo Kenyatta Literature Prize, and the Commonwealth Writers Prize Best First Book in the Africa Region. This I would say is a must read for lovers of literature.

The richness of Africa is well hidden in books, reading about other countries that I have ignored or rubbed off as poorer than my own. Some are personal accounts of what happened like the Rwanda genocide, Immaculeé Illibagiza brings out her story and you see Rwanda through her eyes in her first book, Left to Tell. In the case of Sierra Leone, Ishmael Beah’s book, A Long way gone: memoirs of a boy soldier also brings out his ordeal during the war. Britain’s Gulag, Caroline Elkins about the British rule in Kenya. There and many other books by African writers, Wangari Maathai, Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Wahome Mutahi, all the Kwani? writers, heaps upon heaps that I have not yet read. A richness yet to be discovered by many, many who are still oblivious of the fact that in Africa there lies great writers.